


Flower Crowns

by ProwlingThunder



Series: The Everlasting List of Shenanigans [155]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Altair's Codex, Bleeding Effect, Canon History, Des Bleeds Altair, Gen, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 10:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3206213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProwlingThunder/pseuds/ProwlingThunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt!Fill.</p><p>Some things in Altair's Codex were private things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flower Crowns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ZpanSven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZpanSven/gifts).



It was a sketch Rahman had seen before. Inside Monteriggioni's vault, hidden below a loose stone under the statue of Altair. The original manuscripts had been hidden some time before the city's original destruction, and found again sometime after Assassins had rebuilt it. The old Italian Mentor, Ezio Auditore-- whom the modern mentor hailed as an ancestor-- had collected them from Templar hands during his early career and had a friend, name unmentioned, translate them into the then-common Italian. The copies had been either destroyed or looted during the sacking, or else the fleeing Auditore family had taken them to Rome, but the originals had still rested here.

When Mario had showed them to him, Rahman had been surprised anyone had been able to translate them. Some of the coding they had been written in felt so old, even to him, but Rahman could clearly see in the lines that it was the old master's writing. He had seen some of Al Mualim Altair's manuscripts before, he had studied them. Not that there was a lot to study, paper had been expensive in his lifetime.

But watching the charcoal sketch take shape under Desmond's fingers-- Rahman knew it was hardly Desmond controlling them. He knew the lines of the picture now, the face of the woman looking back at him.

His daughter did not. A quite gray ghost beside him, she did not know what she was looking at. One of Desmond's girlfriends, perhaps? But no. Never. Rahman knew better. He felt like an interloper, but in the fields outside of Monteriggioni's protective walls, they could not leave the Bleeding youth alone. He knew that, too, or he would protest their being there, but perhaps the white and gray of their uniforms reassured him. They could only maintain a respectful silence, in the end.

Altair ringed Maria Thorpe's portrait in a wreath of wildflowers, and then bowed his head.


End file.
